


ghosts and ghastly wounds

by justlookthroughme



Series: the serum was never why you were special [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Tries to Get Rid of His Metal Arm, Bucky whump, Domestic Avengers, Evil Alexander Pierce, F/M, Hurt Bucky Barnes, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sick Bucky Barnes, Vomiting, nose bleeds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:40:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23734753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlookthroughme/pseuds/justlookthroughme
Summary: “The both of you look awfully alike, you know, when Pierce was in his prime.”Steve stewed in silence. The implication laid heavy in the air. “Nat, did Pierce ever...”Natasha nodded.“That was why he was so disgusted with me?”Natasha nodded again.“Jesus.”Natasha weighed her words carefully before she spoke again. “Pierce would demand to be called by your name.”***Natasha said something wrong and it took Bucky all the way back to hell.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Alexander Pierce, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: the serum was never why you were special [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709590
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	1. if i could take it all away, i would

**Author's Note:**

> This directly follows the first part of the fic, but can still be read as a standalone. 
> 
> This series is comic compliant, in which Natasha was raised in the Red Room and Bucky was her trainer but still contains references from MCU's CA: The Winter Soldier. I especially enjoyed writing from Natasha's POV -- she appears cold most of the time, but there's a lot of depth in her character.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Lots of love xx

The blood trickled out of Bucky’s nose, splattering onto the floor. Another drop joined the first, landing right next to his slipper-clad feet.

“James?” Natasha watched as Bucky’s spine seem to give out – he hunched forward, his back facing her, stumbling a few steps ahead to grip the countertop.

A noise escaped Bucky’s throat. It wasn’t the kind of pain Natasha would associate with physical injuries or nosebleeds – it was the kind of pain she had associated with nightmares, traumas, fear and regret. She heard it almost every night, amongst the sounds of the sheets rustling as Bucky writhed in his sleep and the slam of a fist punching a hole into the wall if he couldn’t get out of his head soon enough. Natasha had nightmares too, of the Red Room, but she would only startle awake with a racing heartbeat and the feeling of her skin crawling.

“It appears that Sergeant Barnes is in distress. His blood pressure and heart rate has –“

“Shut up, FRIDAY,” Natasha snapped. FRIDAY lapsed into silence immediately without even finishing her sentence. She hastily set the carton of milk she was holding onto the island and slowly laid a hand on Bucky’s heaving back. “Hey, hey, you’re here. You’re here,” she said gently.

He sounded like he was choking on air. He howled like an injured animal, folding over himself. The countertop cracked in his clenched fists. Natasha wanted to hold him so badly but she was terrified of invading his space. She watched helplessly as he went down onto his knees, crawling somewhat blindly, leaving smeared trails of blood behind before curling into himself and rocking back and forth.

“James, please look at me,” she begged. The blood was smeared all over his face, staining the knees of his sweatpants where he was hiding his face. Her hand hovered uselessly over his figure, not sure what to do, despite this probably being his twentieth mental breakdown since escaping Hydra.

“Good morni—“ Steve stopped dead in his tracks in the kitchen doorway, a newspaper in his hands, old-fashioned as always. His face crumpled seeing Bucky in pain and shaking so hard Natasha could swear she heard his teeth chattering. “Bucky,“ Steve said, like trying to calm a scared animal. “Hey, it’s all good, I promise you –“

There was a glint of Bucky’s metal arm as he launched his fist in the air followed by a heavy crunching sound. The next thing Natasha knew, Steve was flat on his back with Bucky screaming on top of him.

“FUCK! YOU!” he screamed, between pummeling Steve’s face with his metal fist exactly the way he did on the helicarrier years ago. “FUCK! FUCK! YOU!”

Natasha was holding on to his waist, trying to get him off of Steve, who was feebly raising his hands up in self-defense but never once hitting Bucky back. “ _James_! Stop!” Bucky was still screaming, the words coming out inaudible. “Steve, get the _fuck_ up,” she hissed, catching Bucky’s elbow in the mouth. She tasted blood on the back of her teeth.

“I _DIDN’T_! – I DIDN’T WANT – _ANY_ – OF – THIS,” Bucky wailed so loudly that Natasha thought her bones were rattling. She wasn’t going to forget the pain and wrath in his voice any time within the century.

Steve struggled with Bucky, the whole time pleading and telling him stories about Brooklyn, of their childhood, but Bucky wasn’t listening. He had disassociated, engulfed in madness.

Finally, Steve managed to roll himself out from underneath Bucky’s legs. Bucky was now screaming in Russian, begging someone to stop, to not lie to him, his legs kicking out in blind rage. Steve helped Natasha restrain him from behind, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and arms, as Bucky continued howling and sobbing.

“What – what’s he saying now?”

“He’s saying ‘You’re lying,’” Natasha replied, moving to restrain his legs instead. “That he’s not dead.”

“ _Who_? – argh!” Bucky’s fist managed to hit Steve on his temple.

“Fuck if I know,” Natasha said through gritted teeth. “James? James. It’s me. It’s me, honey.”

He was still screaming; sometimes wordless screams of anguish, sometimes desperately shouting “ _NYET_! _NYET_!” Natasha felt tears burning her eyes.

With his arms and legs restrained, Bucky’s struggles eventually slowed down. He wept brokenly in Steve’s arms, sobbing too uncontrollably to catch his breath. Steve held Bucky’s head gently in hands. “Shh, shh. I got you, buddy,” he whispered, tears rolling down his face. “I got you. It’s all good.”

Natasha noticed how splotches of red were blossoming all over Steve’s face, his cheekbone already turning into a purplish bruise. He was going to look a sight tomorrow. Belatedly, she sloppily dragged her palm across her lips to wipe off the blood that was seeping out of the cut. Bucky was still mumbling in Russian, his voice dropping low. Natasha’s head perked up when she realized what he was chanting.

“Steve,” she said levelly. “Let him go.”

Steve looked at her blankly. “What?”

Natasha decided it was safe to loosen her grip on Bucky’s legs, now that he wasn’t so hostile. She recited the translations flatly. “He’s saying, ‘Get him off of me’, ‘Don’t touch me, please stop touching me,’ and ‘I won’t let you.’”

Steve was staring at Natasha, looking startled. He released Bucky almost immediately. Natasha saw the exact moment his heart broke when Bucky crawled away from him on trembling knees and arms, crying so hard she thought he might throw up. His nose was still bleeding.

“Bucky,” Steve softly, almost like he didn’t realize he was saying it out loud.

Bucky responded with a guttural “Fuck you.” He was faced away from Steve, and promptly vomited onto the floor, his fingers scrabbling on the kitchen tiles.

Natasha’s throat felt tight. Her vision blurred and she blinked the tears away. Steve, the stubborn idiot, shifted over to Bucky on his knees. “Bucky, why are you sayi–“

“ _GET AWAY FROM ME!”_ Bucky screamed in Russian, twisting around to swing his metal fist against the side of Steve’s face. It connected with another sickening crunch and Steve fell sprawled onto his back, looking at Natasha helplessly. Bucky might have lost his super-soldier enhancement and peak human function, but he was still strong and the metal arm was still made of vibranium.

Bucky heaved and gagged, looking right at Steve, and another stream of water vomit escaped his lips, splashing onto the floor with drops of blood from his nose. “Don’t—don’t touch me,” he gasped in Russian between retching.

Steve sat up slowly, his mouth hanging open questioningly, silently asking Natasha for translation.

“You have to go, Steve,” Natasha said.

Steve looked like she just kicked him.

“Just, just go,” Natasha repeated, crawling over to Bucky on her hands and knees, so she wouldn’t intimidate him. He was still heaving, but nothing was coming out. “ _Go_ ,” she hissed.

Steve got up slowly and quietly walked out the door, his concerned gaze lingering on Bucky. Natasha noticed he was limping. It didn’t matter. Come tomorrow, they will all be healed and right as rain, except for Bucky.

She rubbed his back in gentle circles, speaking to him in Russian. “You’re done, James. You’re empty. You’re done.”

He panted on all fours, blood dripping steadily into the puddle of watery sick. She laid her hand on his forehead – as expected, he was running a fever. “We have to get your temperature down.”

“I want him dead,” Bucky said, almost inaudibly.

Natasha swallowed. “James…”

“I want him _dead_.” Bucky’s voice broke on the last syllable.

Natasha crawled closer to him, so they were face to face. “Pierce has been dead for years,” she said quietly.

Bucky’s face crumpled. “No – I want – I want him dead.” He sat back on his legs, chest heaving. “Dead.”

Natasha brushed his long brown hair out of his hazed, trauma-addled eyes and cupped his jaw. “That was not Pierce.”

Bucky looked at her for a moment, his eyes shifting back and forth in confusion.

“That was Steve.”

Bucky shook his head and crawled away from her, his breathing heavy. “Don’t say his name.” He tried to get up, but before he could even stand straight, he tripped over his own feet and stumbled back down. “Don’t…don’t say his name.”

“James,” Natasha said, walking over and immediately kneeling back down in front of him so they were level, “do you know who I am?”

“You’re Nat,” he replied, without missing a beat. That was good. That was a good sign.

“Where are we?”

Bucky’s eyes darted around them. His breathing picked up again. “I…I –“

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Natasha cut in quickly before he had another panic attack. “We’re in Stark’s Tower. In New York. It’s 2017.” Bucky’s hands were shaking, so she held them. They were cold, even the flesh one. “Pierce is dead. Hydra is gone. You’re safe now.”

Bucky swallowed. “St…Stark.”

Natasha nodded encouragingly. “Yes, Tony. He’s out on a mission with Vision and Wanda. They’ll be back soon–“

“I killed his parents,” Bucky whispered, finally switching back to English. His voice so dead that Natasha almost wished he was screaming again. “Howard, Maria…” The veins in his forehead stood out as his tears overcame him. “Poor Maria.”

“No, that wasn’t…that wasn’t you.”

“Howard,” Bucky sobbed. “He was my – my friend. I –“

Natasha wiped his tears away from his face, her own dripping off her chin. “It was a long time ago. They made you do it.” His nose was still bleeding worryingly.

Bucky seemed to crash back into his own body, his crying stopping abruptly although his body was still shuddering from silent sobs. “I hurt Steve.”

“He’s fine,” Natasha assured him. “He’ll look hideous tomorrow but he’s fine.”

Bucky stared at her, his lips quivering. “I hurt you.”

Natasha crept closer so they were nose to nose. “I don’t care,” she said, not breaking eye contact. This close, it looked like Bucky had three eyes. “I don’t care. You’re here now.”

Bucky broke into sobs again, babbling apologies and saying he wished he was dead. As long as he was still speaking English, that was already half the battle won. Natasha held him tight, her hand carding through his tangled hair. “Put me back to sleep, put me back to sleep,” he garbled into her neck, clutching onto her for dear life.

“We’ll get through this,” she said fiercely. “We’ll _crawl_ through this, I don’t give a fuck how.”

Bucky sobbed and sobbed, until he collapsed and was sobbing into her lap, folded over into himself, still on his knees. Natasha stroked his back – which was arching upwards as he curled inwards as if he was trying so hard to make himself small and disappear – over the protruding ridges of his spine.

They were silent for a while, besides the sound of Bucky falling apart. Every time he came undone, it was a little bit harder to collect all of him and put him back together. Sometimes it seemed like some of his pieces simply went missing.

“I don’t – I feel like my body is…like I need to crawl out of them,” he sniffled when he was calm enough, lying sprawled half in her lap and half on the cold tiles.

“I know.”

He sat up, still unsteady. “Nat. Nat,” he said urgently. “I can’t. I can’t do this anymore—“

“Stop saying that.” Natasha tried to hold his hands again but he waved them away. His nose was _still fucking bleeding_.

“No, I can’t live with all this—“

“I know, honey, I know.”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky moaned in frustration, getting his feet under him. His mismatched hands were fisted in his hair. “No, you _don’t_ know. Stop – God, stop saying that you do.”

Natasha felt her insides clench. “I _know_ you,” she insisted, getting up as well. “I know what it’s like – the stuff they did to you, I was there,” she said, her voice breaking and rising higher to be heard over his agonized muffled cries.

“But you _don’t_ know!” Bucky yelled so loudly that Natasha automatically shuffled backwards. She had never been afraid of him until…well, until now. “You – everything they did to you, you were – you – they _raised_ you, to be…to work for them. I was their _slave._ When they punished you, they punished me _a hundred_ times worse!” Spittle flew from his lips as ranted incoherently. “It was always my fault – I was too lenient on you, I summoned you out of your dorm room, I, I—“

Natasha’s hand went to her stomach. She felt too big yet too small at the same time. Bucky was right. He got blamed for everything; even if Natasha was the one who failed to eliminate a target, Bucky paid for it for not being a good enough trainer. And when the Red Room found them together that one night…Natasha got away with a few whippings and starvation, but she could hear Bucky screaming every day from the torture chamber until she was finally burned clean from his memories. They also did other…unforgivable things to him with the excuse getting him to forget her faster. They had made her watch. Bucky would always lay bleeding and staring blankly with empty eyes by the time they each had their turn with him.

 _Even_ if neither of them did anything wrong, they still tortured Bucky just because they could.

“They –they taught you how to fuck men to—to get away with things, but _I_ was the one they fucked!” he shrieked.

They had shoved her in his line of sight, every time, and slapped her across the face in front of his dead eyes. Normally he would bark at them to leave her alone, or at least flinch when he was too injured to even move a finger, and it would tip them off that he hadn’t forgotten her. Even his eyes would just give it away when he looked at her. One day, after what felt like months of torment, he didn’t react at all. They knew it was done.

Natasha had always wondered, deep down, in the back of her mind if Bucky was simply too tired and just wanted it to end. He was an assassin – a good poker face was a prerequisite. She wouldn’t blame him if he did.

She never saw him again. Until Iran. He was cold and empty by then, devoid of everything of the man she loved, drained to nothing.

“Pierce would – Pierce—“ he choked, shoving his fist into his mouth to keep whatever else that was trying to escape his mouth inside.

“James,” Natasha said quietly, defeated, like Bucky had absorbed all of her energy and was spending them all reliving those horrors.

“He would—he would _tell_ me to—to call him Steve,” Bucky blubbered. He made an agonized sound through gritted teeth. “He would—he would _make_ me, and – Steve was dead – he made me—dishonor Steve’s memories—“

Natasha felt her blood run cold. She never knew this. She had known Bucky for fifty years and had never…

“I---I didn’t want to – he made me, he – he said he knew, that Steve and I used to, to…” Bucky crouched on the floor, chin tucked into his chest, hands over his head, like he was trying to protect himself from…from everything.

Natasha just stood there, looking down at him, feeling like the walls around her were tumbling down and the floor was caving in beneath her feet. Maybe this was what it felt to lose your mind.

“I—I never told you, I—I’m sorry,” Bucky choked, peeking up at her like he was afraid of her.

“It’s okay,” Natasha whispered hollowly.

Bucky got up abruptly and snatched a knife from the knife block.

“James—“ Natasha started but before she could even blink – he was still as fast as ever – he jammed it into the seams of his shoulder where the metal melded into his arm. Blood sprayed around like they were in a low-budget snuff film.

“GET IT – _OFF_!” he roared.

“ _Stop_ ,” Natasha cried, trying to rip it out of his hands. After all, he wasn’t a super-soldier anymore, and Natasha still had her own version of an enhancement serum in her veins. Bucky managed to twist the knife right where it was fused to his clavicle, successfully wedging it in despite his howls of agony. Natasha yanked it out of him with all her might, and threw it so hard it slid all the way across the room and under the kitchen table. Blood was spouting from his shoulder, and he was turning pale. In the chaos of fresh blood gushing out of him like a broken pipe, Natasha managed to notice the one leaking from his nose had finally stopped. Like that was enough to make any difference now.

“Get it off. I need it off,” Bucky pleaded. He was swaying on his feet from the blood loss. Natasha held him in place with one hand staunching the wound and the other on his chest, keeping him from toppling over. “Please, this is all I ask,” he whimpered.

As if he was a puppet with his strings cut off, his body went limp and his weight dragged Natasha tumbling to the floor with him.

“James?” Natasha slapped him lightly on his cheek, unintentionally smearing his own blood onto his face. That was when she noticed the wispy red glow floating around him.

Tony’s voice rang loud and clear. “FRIDAY, alert the medic.”

Fuck, Natasha forgot all about FRIDAY. Her head whipped up to see Tony and Wanda standing in the kitchen doorway, watching them sympathetically.

“Vision is with Steve,” Tony said by way of explanation.

Natasha zeroed in on the matching red glow on the tips of Wanda’s fingers.

“I wish someone had done this for me,” Wanda said calmingly, “when things got too painful to bear.” She looked sad and burdened beyond her years, her fading accent somehow making it even more so. “He’s fine.”


	2. talk to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When some things come to light in lieu of Bucky's breakdown, the dynamic between Steve and Natasha's friendship gets tested.

“I asked if he wanted milk, and he just…froze,” Natasha said, standing at the back of the couch Tony was lounging on.

“Sit down, you’re making me nervous,” Tony said.

“What were your exact words?” Bruce asked.

“I _said_ , ‘Want some milk?’ and he kind of just…it was like I hit the wrong button on a machine.” She recoiled – she knew it was terrible to compare Bucky to a _machine_ , but it slipped out.

“It probably triggered something,” Bruce explained, his hands gesturing in the air as he spoke. “Something related to his PTSD – he has too many, we just haven’t figured all of them out yet.”

“Face it, we might never will,” Tony interjected. It would have sounded rude and insensitive coming from anyone else. “Got triggered over milk? Jesus Christ.”

Maybe not.

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve glowered. More bruises were blossoming and littering about his face.

Tony had this look like he hadn’t even realized how offensive he was being. “Right. Sorry.”

“Is his nose going to keep _bleeding_ each time he gets stressed like that?” Steve asked, looking in Bruce’s direction.

Bruce shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not a medical doctor, but it’s all because of his super-serum expiring. His system is still in shock, and fragile. We can only treat it symptomatically.”

“Can’t you do anything?” Tony asked Wanda. “Get into his head or whatever.”

Wanda shook her head dejectedly. “I haven’t mastered the full potential of my powers yet. I can very easily damage him far worse than he already is.”

Tony turned to Steve. “I know you hate to hear this, but we need to send him back to Wakanda.”

Natasha balled her fists so tightly, her nails biting into her palm. _Put me back to sleep, put me back to sleep._

“Shuri said she did all she could. She removed the trigger words, but she can’t remove the trauma –“

“That’s not,” Tony sighed, “that’s not what I’m saying, Steve.”

A sharp edge creeped into Steve’s facial expression, and when he spoke, it leaked into his voice. “How much longer you suggest we put him under? How can we fix him if he’s not dealing with any of the crap Hydra put him through?”

Before Tony could respond, the door to Bucky’s room opened. Sam shut it softly behind him, the door barely making a click. “He’s asleep. The doctors gave him some painkillers and Xanax. Should be out for a while.” No one said anything. Sam sighed. “I go out for a run for _one_ hour, and come back to this.”

Steve got up. “I should – I mean, can I see him? Stay until he wakes up?”

Sam looked like he was pretending to consider to spare Steve’s feelings, but Natasha saw the answer on his face before he even said them out loud. “I don’t think it’s time yet, Cap.”

“Sit down, Steve,” Natasha said.

Steve dropped slowly back down onto the couch next to Vision, his one hundred years looking like they had finally caught up with him. “He really hates me, huh?”

“No,” Natasha answered honestly. “I just need to speak to you.” She stared at him intently, eyes boring into him, and Steve stared back.

“Vision and I will, uh, get started on lunch,” Wanda said awkwardly. “Come on, Vis.”

“We will also put the kitchen back in order. Have no worries,” Vision said. He phased out, leaving Wanda alone and looking somewhat annoyed as she turned towards the kitchen alone.

“I’ll pay for the damages, Tony,” Steve started but Tony held his hand up.

“He didn’t mean it. I don’t _hate_ your friend, Steve. He’s welcomed here. Don’t get me wrong.” Without another word, Tony got off the couch and headed for his tech lab.

Bruce stood up, looking just as awkward as Wanda had. “I’ll just…yeah.”

“Yeah,” Sam echoed him dryly and followed him out. “Let me know if he wakes up,” he called over his shoulder.

When everyone was gone, Steve said, “Are you ever sitting down or what?”

Natasha uncrossed her arms and bowed her head, leaning against the back of the chair. That was as far as she would get to sitting down at times like this.

“What did he tell you?” Steve demanded. “Did I do something to him?”

Natasha shook her head, still not meeting Steve’s eyes. “It was Pierce.”

“And?”

“The both of you look awfully alike, you know, when Pierce was in his prime.”

Realization swept over Steve’s face. He stewed in silence, the implication lying heavy in the air.

Steve swallowed. “Nat, did Pierce ever...”

Natasha nodded wordlessly.

“That was why he was so disgusted with me?”

Natasha nodded again.

“Jesus.”

Natasha weighed her words carefully before she spoke again. “Pierce would demand to be called by your name.”

It was very subtle, but Natasha saw how Steve froze, his spine going rigid. She noticed there were bruises on Steve’s white knuckles, but it wasn’t Bucky that he had hit.

She carried on, pretending not to notice. “He only just told me all this today. I guess it kind of just, spilled out.” He had completely torn himself apart; some things were bound to fall out. “Pierce knew about the both of you.”

“Nat…” Natasha hated it. She hated the sympathy in Steve’s voice. The guilt. “It was just once. During the war. It was pretty common for men to help each other out…”

Natasha batted his explanation away. “Come on, Rogers. I’m not mad. I get it.” And she genuinely did. She was just still taken aback, that was all. “Let’s not make it weird.”

There was a pause, before Steve pressed on, “What else did he say?”

Natasha shrugged. “Nothing you don’t already know. The abuse. The torture. Same old stuff.”

Steve’s jaw was clenched so hard it looked like it might break. He was too enraged at Hydra to say anything more.

After another stretch of silence, Steve asked, “How bad was it for you?”

Natasha glanced up at him from her blank stare at the carpet. “What was?”

“Coming in from the cold. Joining SHIELD.” He looked apologetic. “The PTSD.”

Natasha shrugged. “It was bad. But everything bad for me, is worse for him.” She didn’t plan on going farther than that, but decided that Steve deserved to know and not be left in the dark. “Let’s just say I was their hopes and dreams, and James was their most valuable asset and nothing more than a toy.

“I was raised to kill. Most parents would read their kids bedtime stories at night, right? The Red Room made us spar – all us little girls in tiny pigtails – until the other couldn’t get up anymore. Violence was routine for me, like eating and brushing my teeth. And I killed with no further thought about justice, about guilt – nothing. It was like slaughtering animals for food.

“James was different. He was always standing up for the little guys; you of all people know that. He fought for his country. Then Hydra just… Everything he did, he did because he thought it was right. The skewed his thought process, his morals. He did them somewhat blindly – his brain was too fried to question _why_. When he finally broke out of the brainwashing, it’s like waking from a nightmare and into an even worse one where every horror was real. You can’t believe you did those things, but you _remember_ doing those things. And you remember how determined you were to successfully eliminate each target. How you _wanted_ them to die.

“Me? I didn’t snap out of it and got whiplash. I just turned over. Realized how _wrong_ I was, drowned in guilt, nightmares, believing I deserved to die. But I never had to deal with some buried memory resurfacing out of nowhere when someone so much as says the wrong thing. Or having to worry about being turned again. I am still my own person. The Red Room has always _allowed_ me to be my own person – they just shaped who I was, and whoever I was, I was allowed to keep so long as I did everything I was told.”

Natasha hated to toot her own horn, self-deprecating as she was, but she saw how much Steve admired her over her sappy little story. She hated it.

Steve broke the silence again after a while.

“I might take him back to Brooklyn. See if he could find something to ground him—“

“Steve.”

“What?”

Natasha finally sat on the couch opposite him, her elbows on her knees. “You need to let him go,” she said evenly.

Steve seemed taken aback. “He’s my _friend_ ,” he enunciated each word.

“ _Bucky Barnes_ was your friend. That’s not who he is anymore.” Steve looked so hurt Natasha wanted to kick herself.

“Look, I know that,” Steve defended himself. “But maybe it could help.”

“You’re just going to stress him out.”

“So what are you going to do? Tip-toe around him on eggshells? He needs to remember who he _was_.”

“Steve.”

“You don’t get to decide what’s right for him every time,” Steve remarked, his tone snarky. “I know him too. I’ve known him his _whole life_ —“

“You _think_ you’ve known him his whole life, and yours, but the truth is Steve you spent more time sleeping in the ice than you did being his friend! He was the Winter Soldier far longer than he _ever_ was Bucky Barnes. You think you know him _best_ and you _do_ , but that man is gone.”

Steve was sitting so still, like the slightest spasm of a muscle was going to make him explode.

Natasha sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“No. You’re right,” he replied curtly. He still didn’t move.

Natasha looked at the wall behind Steve’s head, and back towards him. He was staring past the floor, looking like he was going to kill someone. Natasha went back to staring at the wall.

After what felt like hours, he took a deep breath and when he spoke again, his voice was softer but his posture was still strung tight. “You’re right. I, uh. I’m going to punch a few bags. Let me know when he wakes up and if I can see him.”

Steve’s footsteps clicked away stiffly.


	3. don't look at me like that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky wakes up.

Natasha’s prediction was right – Steve looked like shit the next morning. The bruises looked like patches all over his face, and added with the words Natasha forced him to swallow last night, he was a sight.

“Pancakes?” Wanda asked, handing a heaping plate to Steve. Vision was at the stove, complete with a chef’s hat over his hairless head.

“Thanks, Wanda,” Steve said appreciatively. “How’s Bucky this morning?” He pretended to be busy cutting into his tower of pancakes, forgetting the syrup.

“Still asleep,” Natasha answered. “He woke up last night. Mumbled stuff about flying rockets and the moon. Poured some water down his throat and he fell back asleep.”

“Hm,” Steve nodded, still not looking up.

“You can go see him, Steve. I think he’s fine now,” she said, trying to soften yesterday’s blow.

Steve did not react.

Sam was carefully staying out of their conversation. “Syrup?” he offered as though it was a typical Thursday morning at the Tower.

“Thank you,” Steve said and mindlessly poured it all over his pancakes.

“His new arm is almost done,” Tony beamed proudly. “If he can take it, that is.”

“He might need more time.” Natasha was glad Sam was the one who said it instead of her.

Tony shrugged, unbothered. He knocked back a glass of orange juice and stood up. “I have a conference meeting. Pepper sends her love from LA. See you all later, children.” Tony’s business suit materialized over his body by molecular transformation while he walked, without him even stopping until he was in the elevator. The doors slid shut behind him.

“The wound has stopped bleeding,” Sam said.

“I’ll continue my research later, see if I find anything,” Bruce announced. “Man, these are good,” he said around a mouthful of pancakes.

“Thanks,” Wanda said sheepishly. “Vision, come sit with us.”

“I don’t need to eat,” Vision declined. “I should like to get these eggs done before breakfast is over.”

Bruce peered over from his seat. “I think those eggs were done _yesterday_.”

Natasha cracked a grin, despite herself. Steve did, too.

A worried look crossed Vision’s face. “Oh, goodness. I apologize. Let me start again –“

“God, just sit down,” Wanda said lightly.

“Well, if you insist,” Vision said, unfailingly polite. He took off his hat and sat at the table. “Might I assist anyone in tea or coffee?”

“No, Vision,” Steve said. “Please, just enjoy yourself.”

Breakfast carried on as usual. The air was breathable again, Natasha almost felt like all the weight has been lifted. Once the plates were done, Sam excused himself to the VA. Wanda, on the other hand, had to attend the online classes she was taking and Vision just…evaporated again, much to Wanda’s chagrin.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Steve,” Natasha said softly.

“I’m not.”

“I’m not sorry for saying those things last night, but I am sorry for how they came out.”

Steve finally looked at her. “Natasha, stop. I’m not mad at you.”

She believed him. When Steve Rogers says something, you believe him. It was just how things work – not because of his status as captain, but because of his honesty.

“I’m mad at myself. You’re right – he’s a different person now and I don’t know him the way I used to. I’ve been selfish – pushing him and pushing him –“

“There you are,” Natasha said in a sing-song voice. “The dumb Steve that I know.”

“Well I was.”

“He’s not getting better any faster with us going around in circles.”

Steve seemed to consider this at least.

Natasha wiped the last plate dry and smacked him with the dishrag playfully. “Now shut up and do me a favor – put these away,” she said, gesturing at the stack of dried plates.

Steve did as she asked without hesitation. “Next time, we use the dishwasher.”

Natasha feigned surprised. “You know how to use one?”

“Very funny.”

“My jokes are better than yours.”

Steve was about to retort, but he just ended up smiling. Natasha smiled back at him. Maybe they really were going to be okay.

Which meant one more thing left to contend with.

***

Natasha opened Bucky’s door as quietly as possible. He was sitting up in bed, sagging against the pillows and headboard, dark circles heavy under his eyes despite having slept for almost 20 hours. His metal arm was removed. Some of the blood had seeped through the white bandage on his shoulder. An IV line was hooked to a blood bag and into a vein in his right hand.

“How are you?” Natasha asked, crawling next to him in bed. They had changed his t-shirt and sweatpants yesterday, and threw it all out. It was his favorite t-shirt but the blood was impossible to wash out. Now he was dressed in a ratty band t-shirt with another pair of sweatpants.

“Tired,” he croaked. “Is everyone afraid of me?”

Natasha was going to say something sarcastic, like “Oh, terrified” but she was worried he might take it seriously. “We missed you at breakfast. Tony’s got a new arm for you.”

A hint of a smile changed the line of his lips, his eyes showing how deeply touched he was. It disappeared as soon as it came as he gingerly traced the healing cut on Natasha’s lip with his flesh hand. “I’m still sorry.”

Natasha nuzzled her face into his hand, and kissed his palm. “I’m just sorry I can’t kiss you.”

Bucky chuckled softly. It warmed Natasha’s insides. “Me too.” Natasha laid her head against his chest, feeling his breathing and heartbeat, finally beating calm and steady. “Are we not going to talk about everything I said to you last night?”

“We don’t. You need rest.”

Natasha felt Bucky’s nimble fingers gently playing with a lock of her hair. “We’re okay?”

“Of course we’re okay.”

“You and I, are we okay?”

It was then she understood what he meant. “Nothing could ever change how I feel about you,” she sighed, wrapping her a leg up over Bucky’s hips. She rubbed a cheek against his chest to prove her point.

“That was the only thing I kept from you.” Bucky’s voice was quiet and haunted. “I tried to shove it away from my thoughts. I never wanted to think about it again.”

“Then don’t.”

After a silence, Bucky finally asked, “Where’s Steve?”

Natasha ran her hands through Bucky’s brown hair. “He didn’t know if you were ready to see him.”

Natasha felt Bucky flinch. “God. I was such an ass.”

“Stop.” She leaned over on one elbow to look him in the eye. “Wasn’t your fault.”

Bucky fiddled with a button on Natasha’s jacket. “What about the next time this happens?“

Natasha tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Then we’ll deal with that like we dealt with this.”

“What if I hurt anyone even worse next time? What someone d—what if I kill someone? Nat, you have to put me down –“

“ _Shhh_ ,” Natasha hushed him. “We’ll keep working on figuring out what your triggers are. Speak to a new therapist. Uncover more memories to see what else is buried in there, if you’re up to it.” It pained Natasha to say that. She had always believed that what Bucky didn’t remember of his days with Hydra wouldn’t hurt him, but should they resurface again with no warning…

“Okay,” Bucky whispered.

“You know,” Natasha said, “Steve wants to take you back to Brooklyn. Visit a few places. See what home looks like. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Bucky stayed quiet for a while. Finally, he said, “Can I see him?”

Natasha smiled. “Sure.” She lightly tapped a finger on his perfect, straight nose. “Let me go get him. Want him to bring over some leftover pancakes?”

Bucky smiled emptily. “I love pancakes.”

She slid out of the bed, slightly nervous for some reason. Steve was in the living room of his floor. He was watching a historical documentary which, for him, probably happened during his childhood.

He saw her standing there and hit the mute button.

“He wants to see you. He’s okay.”

Natasha saw the relief on Steve’s face. “Alright,” he said, getting up. As he passed her, he said “You know, that farmhouse might be really good for him. He wants to. You guys should go for it.”

Natasha felt touched that Steve was willing to share the only tie left to his past with her. Bucky was all Steve had. “Maybe once he’s stable enough,” she replied softly. “You can come visit anytime, Steve.”

Steve grinned. He headed down the hallway towards Bucky and Natasha’s floor.

Natasha glanced at the TV and realized that Steve was watching a WW2 documentary. She unmuted the TV. As expected, Steve and Bucky were featured in passing – two young soldiers, inseparable on the battlefield. This was sometime after Bucky’s capture in Azzano, and there was already a dead look in his eyes. There were only glimpses, but she saw them.

She sighed and put her feet up on the coffee table. So maybe Bucky will never be fully restored. So what? He was happy here, as happy as he could be, and he was loved. Against all odds, he was reunited again with both Steve _and_ Natasha. Most people weren’t as lucky. Then again, most people weren’t as cursed, either.

Grabbing the remote, she cranked up the volume to quiet her mind. It was going to be a long and slow journey, and she knew it. The credits rolled and Natasha barely realized it, caught up in her thoughts. She turned the TV off and took the stairs to her and Bucky’s floor. From behind the closed door in their living area, she distantly heard Steve and Bucky talking and laughing. Just like old times.

Natasha smiled at herself and grabbed her coat. She planned to drop by an antique store. Maybe Bucky would like to have a gramophone in their farmhouse, someday.


End file.
